


Honeymoon

by BulmaseekingVegeta



Series: The Prince and the Heiress BVDNs [15]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, smutty smut smut, vegebul smut is the best smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-04 00:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21188876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BulmaseekingVegeta/pseuds/BulmaseekingVegeta
Summary: This is my submission for TPTH's October Mature BVDN.Due to binge watching a lot about Henry VIII and his six wives and binge watching a TON about his many, many mistresses, I went with a period piece Vegebul AU for this story.  Enjoy!Cruel King Vegeta has taken a new bride, one of his late second wife's handmaidens, Bulma, daughter of a nobleman from the west.  But little did he know that she had been sharing the bed of his eldest son, the Crowned Prince Vegeta.  However, that wouldn't stop the King from having her... anymore than this new, abusive marriage would stop the Prince from keeping his lover, from stopping the love Prince Vegeta shares with his Bulma.





	1. Reception

**Author's Note:**

> (Just an update... This work got nominated for Best of the BVDNs in The Prince and The Heiress Fan Community's Annual Fanart and Fanfic Awards for 2019. 
> 
> It won 2nd Place!
> 
> So I've posted the beautiful banner I received in the very first chapter right underneath the BVDN pic. Thank you to everyone who voted and have enjoyed this piece. Enjoy!

(Thanks to @BianWW for this incredible artwork for the night's banner! Y'all find her on Twitter under the same @. She is amazing!)

It had been a lavish affair, of course it was. His father never failed to impress the eyes of all who traveled to the court even if only for a relatively minor thing such as a reception ball. Tonight’s extravagance had gone on without a hitch… until.

She had entered the room on his father’s arm, the Queen Consort. His father’s newest and youngest bride yet. A relationship he had forced into existence even as his wife had been in a very hazardous pregnancy. That fact had meant nothing to his father, the King, King Vegeta III. Vegeta’s own mother had died from sickness many years ago; although clearly not soon enough for his father. But the old man had barely acknowledged the birth of his second son, the one he had cruelly christened a weakling before the poor infant’s mother’s body was cold in her birthing bed. Before the child had even been cleaned of his own mother’s blood, the same blood that stained her legs and soaked the sheets. The same massive blood lost bringing her child into the world while simultaneously taking her out of it.

Vegeta, Crowned Prince, the fourth of his name when he would become King eventually, closed his eyes and looked away again.

He could not believe his father’s heartlessness at the death mere weeks ago of his stepmother, but to take one of her maids, a truly beautiful woman of the Crowned Prince’s own age, as a mistress and then wife the very day after his stepmother’s death… It was beyond propriety.

It was beyond pride.

And then to drag her to this spectacle and turn his cruelty on her because he was already boring of her… that was practically blasphemy.

But his father’s highest crime… Vegeta squeezed his eyes even tighter at the harsh memory just moments old.

To see the old bastard’s hand actually strike her porcelain cheek with such force as to knock her off her feet…

It was more than Vegeta could bare. Without hesitation, as soon as eyes were turned away, he left the ballroom. For her.


	2. First Class

It had been among the first lessons she had learned when the King’s eye had first turned to her, whether she wanted his attentions or not: he was a cruel tyrant.

It had made her sick when he’d cornered her in the anteroom to the Queen’s own chambers. His hands had slithered around her waist like a tail. The Queen had taken more ill than usual that morning and she had gone to fetch her poor sovereign fresh water and cloth to blot her face with, but the King had been waiting for her. After taking her waist in his hands, he’d suddenly sat down and yanked her onto his knee.

In an instant, Bulma, daughter of Lord Briefs of the West, had blanched and sickened and knew, she was to be his new conquest while the pregnant Queen was unable to meet his… _needs_.

Bulma was not the first of his wife’s maids that he had taken, most certainly not the first he had taken by force either.

The Queen had spared her the moment of horror when she’d suddenly left her chambers and entered the antechamber to catch Bulma on the King’s knee. Bulma shuddered at the memory so long yet not so long ago, the exchange between the two royals had been venomous to say the least. And the King had quickly abandoned Bulma as his toy of the moment… until.

Later that night.

As soon as she’d left the Queen’s antechamber, he had been there in the hallway. He’d hauled her off to some side room and he… he’d…

Bulma wretched. Violently. Her face reddening. Her mind quickly, desperately trying to beat the horror back into the shadows of her mind where it would never see the light of day again.

Afterward though, his son, the Crowned Prince, her beloved in secret had found her. Garments torn. Hair rendered. Makeup smeared… body battered and bruised and shaking.

The door flew open behind her, there was a scuffle of feet, and it shut just as quickly and with barely a sound.

“Bulma?” Her beloved’s soft voice called to her through her tears.


	3. Champagne

The gown was the same soft gold and sparkling as champagne and far more expensive than that of a simple if noble maid, but the circumstances felt so much the same.

She was trembling with tears. On her feet though, not in a pile in on the floor. Dress intact this time. But even with her eyes averted, face turned away from him, he could see the purpling bruise blossoming on her pale cheek.

As before, he immediately reached out to her. He came to her side and cupped her face, gently pulling it to him.

“Let me see,” he begged her.

As before, her tears made her too weak to deny him. Her face turned to him.

His gasp nearly shattered her. But his soft lips tenderly kissing her wounded cheek broke her entirely. Through tears, her eyes found his. And his lips found hers.

Immediately she clung to his royal-blue collar. Desperate for contact that wasn’t to inflict pain.

Now as then, he didn’t hold his father’s behavior against her. To him she was what she was, one of his father’s many victims. Even now, with the term ‘wife’ applied to her, she was still her husband’s victim.

Her lover, the stepson she never wanted him to be, broke the kiss. The tip of his nose tenderly caressing the tip of her own, a show of love and concern that was private, something just of the two of the shared together.

“Vegeta,” she breathed. The name she only gave to him, still referring to his father as her King.

She pulled her lover closer. Her eyes rose to meet his, held for a moment, and he nodded. In a single beat of their hearts, his mouth dove in yet again. This time hungrily. Devouring her mouth. She needed him. Needed the touch only he could provide. She needed her lover to banish the newer horrors back into the shadows. And he knew it.

It didn’t take long for his hands to abandon her face and his arms to wrap around her waist. For him to pull her close to his body.


	4. Hotel Suite

He didn’t want to be with her here like this. He wanted to take her to his bedchambers like he used to when she was a maid. At the very least he wanted to take her into one of the many spare suites of the palace used for entertaining guests, foreign dignitaries that needed stories of the opulence of the Saiyan Royal Court to regale with when they returned to their own homes. But no, all of that had been taken from them when his father’s eyes had landed upon his dear, sweet Bulma.

“My precious Bulma,” he breathed at her as they quickly turned and he hiked her up on the small table beside them.

“My beloved Vegeta,” her voice just as airy and breathless, “My one and only Vegeta.”

By the Heavens, what that meant to him. What it did to him.

Their hands were a flurry as they quickly worked together to hike up her plethora of skirts till his hands finally found the bare skin of her legs. She spread them willingly for him and he took his place between them in an instant. They worked together again to unlace his pants. He yanked them down viciously, his already stiff manhood springing free of it before he took himself in hand and pressed his bulbous tip to her wanton entrance.

Her hands found his neck again as his hand found her hips and he pressed himself forward. Sinking himself into the wanton core of his lover with a deep growl of claim. She was his, not piece of paper stamped by whatever crooked cardinal his father owned would change that. None could. If they were caught, it meant death for them both. Vile, public beheadings after entertaining the people with a ‘trial’ of humiliation and embarrassment describing the details of their carnal betrayal of the throne.

Vegeta’s lips found Bulma’s again as he began to love her in the only way he had left now, a scandalous fuck in some tiny little side room on a side table of all things rather than a bed. _His _bed.


	5. Couples Massage

He wanted to be doing this absolutely differently. He wanted his hands massaging her pliant, full bosom. He wanted their bare bodies writhing against each other, bare flesh to bare flesh. He wanted the only fabric near them to be the comforting luxury of the trappings of his princely bed, its ornate canopy enclosed around them once more, securing them in their own private world if only for a night or a stray moment seized when possible.

He wanted to make love to her in the way she deserved to be. In a bed. _His_ bed. _Their_ bed.

But… the table began to rattle with his exuberant thrusts.

The lips parting but still close. The small side room filling with the sounds of their heavy pants and her whimpers and his grunts.

He fucked her with near abandon. Careful not to totally lose control as he had when it was possible for her to be his and his alone.

“_Hnngh, my Vegeta_,” she moaned sweetly to him.

“_My Bulmaaa_,” he groaned, feeling the muscles of his body coiling.

He wanted her bare breasts rubbing against his bare chest as he thrusted himself deep inside her, not the relative shallowness he was achieving now. He wanted her hands massaging the halves of his buttocks as she begged him to claim her thoroughly to the creaking sounds of his bed, their private world.

“_Haaaa. Haaaa._” She moaned. Cheeks and chest flushed bright pink.

He wanted his mouth to be able to add her pert nipples to the parts of her body he licked and suckled and kissed, taking them into his mouth like the luscious ripe strawberry in a pool of delicate cream that her breasts were to him. He wanted to savor her pulse on the tip of his tongue as he drove himself into her.

As if reading his mind, or knowing what she wanted of him as well, her chin lifted and turned. Exposing her throat to him. He dove his head forward and his mouth claimed her delicate neck with just as much vigor as his stiff cock did her wet pussy. Her hands dove under his tunic. Hands groping and massaging his buttocks. Holding him closer to her.


	6. Sex on the Beach

Their mouths met again. The sounds of pleasure they were making getting louder, but now muffled with the practiced knowledge they’ve been putting to use since his father had taken her as Queen. They took what they could get from each other when they could get it. And thus they were able to attain the last hope of one of their dreams. 

His pace built and built as he felt his body tense powerfully. Her nails dug into his muscular flesh, her sounds becoming excited wails, but his mouth refused to release hers. Before her voice could echo his name throughout his bedchamber at a moment such as this, but here, she couldn’t. Her legs began to tremble and clenched tight around his pistoning hips.

He drove himself harder and harder in her, desperate to get deeper and deeper inside her. She granted him this. Hiking her legs up over his hips and leaning back just enough at just the right time.

He hammered into her wanton sex and suddenly she screamed. His name, muffled but unmistakable. Her legs shook violently like the walls of her femininity. With a muffled cry of his own, her name just as unmistakable, his manhood jolted deep inside her. Spilling his seed over and over. Filling her womb with their last hope. A child.

They didn’t just steal kisses. They made sure they stole a legacy, the bloodline. _His_ bloodline. _His_ lineage. Not his father’s. _His_. The least they could do now was make sure that any child she would have would be his. His father may have already bored of forcing himself on her and contentedly himself with slapping her, abusing her, but Vegeta would never tire of loving her. He keep his thrusts up as long as his manhood kept releasing his seed in her, as long as the flutters of her walls around his cock milked him of it.

When their bodies were done, they contented themselves with kissing. Softly, tenderly, lovingly. With soft caress and gentle embraces. He had wanted this to be a union in pale warm sands on some foreign shore where his father could not reach them, but no. Alas, this was the only honeymoon they would ever have. One that was not their own, but God willing, a child that was.


End file.
